


v. between the devil and the deep blue sea.

by orphxus (impxria)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, General fiction, Literature, M/M, fan fiction, gender neutral reader, quote from sleeping at last - mars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 07:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14869236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impxria/pseuds/orphxus
Summary: [ v. the hierophant. ]( our nights have grown so long,now we beg for sound advice;let the brokenness be felt‘til you reach the other side. )





	v. between the devil and the deep blue sea.

**Author's Note:**

> [ { please listen. }](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uze0cUPxV4k)   
> 

**i**. 

he is changing. 

from the start, you had never imagined working with a deviant-chasing android, much less consider him a friend. it was strange at first-- the way he sat so politely, his awkward attempts at small talk, his intent stare when he asked questions you weren’t quite sure how to answer.

late nights in the station were common; you never minded them much, but ever since connor’s arrival, they’ve become surprisingly pleasant. in the times that you were able to relax, he would be there, sitting idly across from you if hank was unavailable at the time. he’d only ask questions related to deviants, but as time passed, he became more curious-- more intrigued by humanity.

and in return, you began to think more and more about the nature of androids. if they had as much personality as connor did, if they expressed their emotions in the same way.

if they were as human as he was.

connor had his own quirks-- the coin tricks, his manner of speaking-- it was difficult to take in at first. you’d encountered androids before, but never did you spend much time with them.

“hey,” you begin, almost smiling at the way his posture straightens when you speak, “you have lungs, don’t you? but you don’t need to breathe. is that right?”

“correct. androids have human-like functions to minimize discomfort.”

it’s weird, you think. you watch his chest move in a rhythmic manner, and you wonder how odd it’d be if it stilled. because it wouldn’t do anything to him, wouldn’t mean a thing if he just stopped breathing.

but something about that brings unease to your heart. his head tilts ever so slightly when he notes the hint of concern that adorns your features.

“are the functions not enough? i don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

he assumed that you were fine in his presence; starting from your first meeting, you were well adjusted to the idea of working alongside an android more so than your co-workers. perhaps he hadn’t been doing enough. it’s a few diagnostic runs here and there, some quick scans, and he searches for any remaining adaptations that could be of assistance.

but you laugh, much to his surprise.

“you don’t make me uncomfortable, connor. you’re plenty enough as you are.”

his brows raise in response. he’s unsure of what to say; uncertainty seeps in because he can’t quite figure out what he did to cause any worry.

“you seemed concerned.”

he watches your fingers gently tap against the desk, and for a moment, you seem deep in thought.

“i don’t like the thought of not seeing you breathe.” you explain sheepishly, watching the curiosity that surfaces in brown eyes. “i know you don’t need to, but--”

“i would still function.”

a weary smile from you, and an unexplainable feeling that overcomes him.

“yeah, i know.”

( it’s a reassurance, yes--  
but there’s a coldness in those words, even with the sincerity that lingers in them.

he’d still function.  
but he wouldn’t be alive-- 

breathing or not. )

**ii**.

his curiosity grows more and more with each passing day.

it’s another late night, but you’ve slipped out of the building for a quick coffee run, and somehow, you’ve dragged connor along with you. it wasn’t difficult, really-- hank most definitely needed a break from his partner, and connor, well-- being his unique self, didn’t really understand why you wanted his company.

( you managed to steal him away for a bit, though he really does question what benefit you gain from his presence. )

connor tries to initiate conversation quite often. it’s a little funny how far he’ll go with his topics, but today, you notice that he’s quieter, more reserved. 

you walk side by side in silence.

you sense his discomfort-- something you were never able to do when you first met.

“you’re not talking much today, connor.”

a hint of hesitation that you barely manage to catch, then warm eyes that meet yours.

“may i ask you a question, detective?”

“always.”

a brief pause--

“are you afraid of dying?”

your gait halts. he walks a few steps ahead, stops, and turns to face you.

maybe he’s misspoken-- he watches your expression carefully, noting the way your lips part to answer, but shut abruptly. the way your eyes avoid his for only a second before staring back. he isn’t sure what he feels right now-- this strange emotion that buries itself deep in his chest.

“yes. i’m afraid.”

you can almost see his features soften at the answer.

“are you?”

a sense of conflict on his visage-- the slightest narrow of his brows, then an answer you never wanted to hear.

“i’m a machine. i can’t die.”

something snaps when you hear the way he talks-- as if this were so casual, as if you weren’t talking about losing him. it’s a cruel reminder; maybe that’s why it hits you so hard. android or not, he was still your friend-- someone you cared for. and the thought of it--

“you would disappear. you’d stop existing.”

“another model would replace me. one that looks and thinks exactly like me.”

“but it’s not _you_ , connor.”

the sense of urgency in your voice makes him hesitate-- and your intense gaze does nothing to help that. his lips part and his gaze shifts downward for a moment; for the first time, he finds himself at a loss for words.

“no, it’s not.”

( if he were to stop existing today, he could possibly forget memories of you and hank.  
he isn’t scared, he tells himself.

\--it would simply be a shame if such a thing happened. )

**iii**.

that conversation burns itself in your memory. you worry. and you don’t know why.

maybe because you thought he was becoming more human, because he was growing and learning-- but you were too optimistic. in the long run, he was still an android. he thought of himself as such-- nothing more, nothing less. just a machine to serve a purpose.

you find yourself watching him more and more these days, seeing the way he both pisses off hank and amuses him, the way he’s become comfortable with his partner. you watch the way he breathes because someway, somehow, it gives you a sense of relief and anxiety.

( it doesn’t mean anything, but _god_ ,  
you’re so afraid that he just might stop one day. )

he catches you staring, but your mind is elsewhere and you don’t notice him staring back.

“detective,” he begins, his voice slightly softer than usual, “i’m still breathing.”

“i know, connor.”

there’s a quiet solemness in your words. he ponders if he should have ever brought the topic up with you; ever since that day, you’ve been distant, almost absent in conversations. he thinks about how to respond-- what he should say, if he should even press on--

“are you alive, though?”

silence is his answer.

( it’s better that way. you don’t want to hear what he’d say. )

**iv**.

something happened on that rooftop. when hank and connor return to the station, there’s tension in the air. hank doesn’t say a word to you ( he doesn’t most times, but at the very least, he acknowledges you with a little nod ). 

connor approaches with an unreadable expression and your breath catches in your throat.

“i felt what it was like to die.”

the files in hand almost slip when the words are registered; you scramble to grab the paperwork before it scatters about, mind racing with questions. but you don’t ask any; the confusion on your visage is enough.

“i connected with a deviant before he was shot and i--”

he pauses, almost as if he’s...scared. scared to speak, scared to explain what happened during the investigation.

“i was afraid.” the last word rolls off his tongue slowly, hesitantly. “i felt him _die_.”

there’s this intense dread that swallows every single thought you have at that very moment. every word of comfort-- of anything, really, disappears, and you’re left speechless, just as he once was when you spoke to him about his indifference towards death.

it’s human nature to be afraid of dying. it’s something most are born with-- not something that suddenly just happens. because life is full of “what ifs”, not just calculated thoughts and pre constructions. you don’t open your eyes one day and realize how frightening death is.

you shouldn't.

but he did. and he stands before you now, lost and afraid. uncertainty graces his features and you can only stare in concern when he speaks again.

“i’m afraid of dying.”

his voice shakes. it’s never done that before, you notice, and an overwhelming vulnerability takes over you. you’ve never seen him like this. he hardly loses composure, but now--

he’s a thread that continues to unravel and unravel.

back then, he said that he was a machine-- that he couldn’t die. seeing him now, you wonder if it was better if he never knew the feeling. but it’s happening again, you think-- and you know that this time, it’s not just your imagination, nor your hopes.

every single time he walks out that door to find another deviant, something changes in him. he may not admit it, but you can see it-- you can _feel_ it.

your hand finds his and rests it against his chest. he feels the way it rises and falls, and he wonders if he’s the same. he’s been struggling, ever so slowly-- fighting to follow orders, fighting to do what he believes is right.

he’s an android. he knows that. so _why_?

“connor,” the way his name leaves your lips brings him back to reality; he’s suddenly all too aware of your warmth, “you are alive. you are living.”

( he’s not a deviant. he can’t be.

he’s not allowed to be. )

**v**.

in your years of working here, you learn that hank has a few moods: grumpy, pissed off, and moderately okay. 

genuinely contemplative, however, is not one you see much. he’s lost in thought, and with connor off sending reports to cyberlife, you’re the only one he can talk to about the situation. besides, he’s seen the way you two interact; you of all people should understand.

“he didn’t shoot her.”

( _which one?_ the lovers? kamski’s android?  
the very fact that you have to figure out who he refers to says enough about connor’s development. )

“he’s becoming more human, isn’t he?”

you glance around warily, keeping your voice low. you know that hank believes that connor’s been making the right decisions, regardless of whether or not they interfere with his mission. and you both know that he’s no longer an android that follows his goal through and through.

“you think he could become a deviant?”

it’s a serious question, but you recall how many times you’ve heard hank’s sarcastic remarks. when you look at him, searching for any hint of amusement, there is nothing.

“what happens if he does?”

his expression turns grim.

“what happens if he doesn’t?”

( hank wonders if he’s doing the right thing. he almost laughs; he used to loathe androids so much.

maybe he was wrong the whole time. )

**.     .     .**

he knows what he has to do. he’s located jericho.

there’s something unsettling about it all. he doesn’t know why, doesn’t completely understand. he has his mission. he has his orders.

chloe’s face comes to mind, and for a moment, he freezes. he’s changed into casual attire now, watching the mirror intently as he puts on the beanie. he wonders if there’s something different about him.

he remembers holding the gun point-blank and the eeriness that came with it. there were no errors, no possible mistakes in his programming-- nothing logical that would explain the act of mercy. his jaw clenches, brown eyes carefully studying his reflection.

he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t kill-- no, neutralize her.

she was an android, just like him. neither dead nor alive. simply just a machine. but she was _innocent_.

( _you felt empathy, connor._

he did. and that frightens him. )

**.     .     .**

it’s his last chance. you can’t bear the thought of seeing him return to cyberlife. it’s one thing for him to leave, another to know that they would tear him apart. 

you’re caught off-guard when you see him again. the beanie, the leather jacket--

“is something wrong, detective?”

focus returns and you shake your head, offering the faintest of smiles. it’s a worried one, but it’s almost hopeful, he realizes. it’s not long until it disappears, and you’re both left staring at each other in silence.

you’re not sure what to say. this isn’t goodbye-- it’s far from that. but there’s an emptiness-- an ache in your heart when you see him prepared to go to jericho.

“take care.”

he thinks to respond, but your gaze is much too sharp, much too intense. he memorizes your every feature, observing every movement.

you’re trying to tell him something.

( _do what you need to do, connor._ )

**vi**.

you’re not sure how long it’s been since the revolution began. it’s all been a blur-- and while it’s far from over, the androids have made more progress than you’ve ever imagined. they’ve managed to finally be recognized as their own; they fought for their future through peaceful means and they _won_.

and of course, your favorite android returned. you don’t know the exact details regarding jericho; it’s enough knowing that he did what he thought best. it was surreal, seeing him on the TV screen. there was this overwhelming heaviness bearing down on your chest when he left, but the moment you caught sight of him, you could finally breathe.

because you knew that he was safe. and he was free.

now, he stands idly beside you.

you kind of miss seeing him in a beanie. the thought brings a quiet chuckle, capturing his attention. he’s watching you-- you can feel it. 

“detective?”

you take in the sight of the empty street, finding solace in knowing what could have been-- and what will be in the near future. you don’t know how smooth the whole process will be-- what, with the legal reform, but you can only hope that things will work out. 

you finally turn towards him, a comforting gentleness settling upon your visage.

he realizes that he feels at ease when he’s with you. it’s a new feeling-- one that he’s recently come to understand, but one that is welcomed with open arms.

“do you have a heart, connor?”

he can feel it beating; he can hear it ringing in his ears.

“yes.”

you smile, and it is one of the most genuine ones he’s ever seen.

“then you’re alive, aren’t you?”

( his lips twitch– and there it is, that faint, soft smile that you see more and more as he changes.

yes, he is alive. )

**Author's Note:**

> this was rly difficult to write x(. i kept getting stuck and wasn't sure what direction to go with; connor is pretty tough to write. i'm happy with how it turned out, though :^)! thank you for reading!


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